And you get to join in if you feel like it.

Zip!

This week kind of went by in a blur.

But here we are.

Yup. It’s definitely Friday. No getting around that.

Hi.

The hard stuff

Wrong side of bed.

A couple of days this week just didn’t work. As days.

I don’t know. Kept losing my clarity. Or couldn’t find it to begin with.

Just lost in the foggy and the fuzzy. And it took me TWO HOURS to do Wednesday’s post (which was half-completed when I started).

Agggggggggh.

Wednesday.

Speaking of Wednesday, it was brutal.

Not grounded. Depressed. Summer. Way too hot. Groggy. In bed. Miserable.

Also in pain. Arms hurt. Head hurt. Stitches hurt.

It was just generally not fun to be me on Wednesday.

It is also not fun to be me in the summer.

I tend to forget this every single year, but I really don’t do well with summer.

Pretty much everything horrible that has every happened to me has happened in the summer.

And the associations tend to catch up with me. Once I remember that oh, right, this is just my annual bout of summer misery, I can start to move through it.

But it takes me a while to get there.

Putting down baskets.

On Monday we had Jen Hofmann do a genius guest class for my Kitchen Table people and I begged her to do her awesome “how many baskets am I holding?” exercise with us.

Man, recognizing how many symbolic freaking baskets I’m carrying at any given moment is depressing. And carrying them is exhausting.

And putting them down is scary and hard. But I did it. Or worked on it, at any rate … which leads me to the good.

The good stuff

Putting down baskets.

I finally got around to canceling the VIP options on all of my products.*

*If you’ve already ordered one before yesterday, you can still totally do your session with me. So no worries.

Also finished planning the curriculum for two programs so that those baskets can go to the closet until I’m ready for them.

I looked at my baskets. And even though I love the stuff in them …

Down. They. Go.

Extreme self-care.

EXTREME!

Seriously, I’ve been treating it like an extreme sport that I’ve just gotten completely addicted to.

This is also hard, but I’m really, truly making this a practice.

Naptime. Trips to the Angel Refueling Station (aka my meditation closet). Bed. Kindness. Permission.

All the stuff that’s hard for me but really, really good for me.

So that’s a win.

Rose City Roller Derby Finals!

Okay, so admittedly my beloved Guns ‘N Rollers came in fourth, cough, last.

But the Breakneck Betties beat the High Rollers in a brutal fast-paced super-exciting bout and that was very cool.

And Danielle was there. And Dana the Spicy Princess. And our bartender. And a billion other people. And I love Portland.

Actually knowing people to run into.

So yeah, that’s a sign that hey, we live here now.

Because in San Francisco, I never ran into anyone. And in Sacramento, I didn’t even meet anyone.

But somehow in Portland the whole “knowing people” thing is working for us. This is new. And fantastic. So hooray!

We (my gentleman friend and I) even ran into our acupuncturist at the Neko Case concert. And if that doesn’t prove we live in Portland, I don’t know what does.

My gentleman friend made homemade ravioli.

With porcini mushrooms from the farmer’s market.

Oh, and he also made his own sourdough starter this week.

Because, you know, it’s not enough that he’s smart and funny and completely gets me and is the world’s biggest goofball and I love him. RAVIOLI!

And … STUISM of the week.

Stu is my paranoid McCarthy-ist voice-to-text software who delights in torturing me misunderstanding me. I can’t stand him.

Ooh! This one might actually be my favorite Stuism ever …

I was talking to Stu and my gentleman friend was yelling “What?”, because this often happens when you talk to yourself converse with software.

Especially when you’re shouting things like “Work already, you stupid piece of crap!”

Anyway, I yelled “I’m not talking to you—I’m talking to STU!”

But I forgot to silence Stu and he wrote it down. Except that he didn’t write what I actually said.

Instead he wrote:

“I’m not talking a deal to Congress on August 2!”

Fabulous.

The rest of this week’s Stuisms:

• it encloses UN instead of “it closes you in”
• beer is healthy instead of “fear is healthy”
• When we strapped on instead of “when we eavesdropped”
• Prince of pal instead of “principle”
• Or hmmm instead of “okay”
• we cannot tax a sum of missed communication instead of “we can unpack some of this miscommunication”
• him is like pure myth instead of “seem less like a pyramid”
• and a DVD for personal ads instead of “an itty bitty personal ad”
• a gray base for teaching workshop’s instead of “a great space for teaching workshops”
• the endless psych of Moore crappy beans created instead of “the endless cycle of more crap being created”

And … new at the meme beach house!

Yes, that’s a Stuism too.

My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”

So this week, I bring you:

Spontaneous Fruit Party

Me: “Did you catch Spontaneous Fruit Party at the Wonder Ballroom? They were opening for the Pneumatic Mushrooms.”
Ez: “Dude. I heard it’s just one guy.”

Yes!

That’s it for me …

And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.

Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?

And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Friday Check-in #15: the “take that!” edition
• Friday Check-in #47: the Expotition edition
• Friday Check-in #45: Duckwarmer edition

Okay. Kind of left you trailing last time … let me catch you up.

If you will recall, I’m getting my stitches taken out (part one) by someone fabulously incompetent.

Or hilariously incompetent …

At least, that appears to be the opinion of my various symbolic allies and helper mice* that I have called on to help me stay grounded and centered.

*Not actually mice.

Because my allies and helper mice are falling apart. Hysterical laughter. Convulsions. Everyone is on the floor.

Even my most hard-core spiritual teacher who never laughs ever is totally snickering behind his hand. And his eyes are crinkling and he’s so completely about to lose it.

I ask what’s so funny, and that just makes them laugh even harder.

Apparently, I’m the funny part.

[What I have to explain here is that I don't have the clearest reading on who my helper mice and allies are. My teacher is always there. Hiro is there a lot. My grandmother, sometimes.

There are ones that I recognize and ones that I don't. And sometimes it's just a big fog. So I'm just going to give them numbers so you know when someone new is speaking.]

Me: No, seriously. I get that this situation is completely absurd — I do, really — but why is it so funny for you guys?
Helper mouse #1: Giggling. You come up with the funniest things to happen to you! Every time! Every time the funny!
Me: No, I don’t. And don’t put this crap on me.
Helper mouse #2: Oh, honey! I’m sorry. She didn’t mean it like that. We’re not laughing at you.
Me: You’re not?
Helper mouse #1: No, of course not. It’s just … the drama. You love the drama. And you love it to be funny. And then you get these total characters around you.
Me: No, I don’t.
Helper mouse #3: Wiping tears away. It’s not you, exactly. It’s your writer self. The part of you who is a writer. You like to share the stuff that happens to you.

I think about this.

Writer Me.

Me: I’m confused, I guess. Are you saying that I exaggerate what happens to me?
Helper mouse #4: Oh, not at all. That’s kind of why it’s so funny!

Paroxysms of laughter from the helper mice. Question marks from me.

Helper mouse #2: What he means is that the funny part is that you don’t need to exaggerate. Your life is just filled with funny.
Helper mouse #3: And then you have this phenomenal auditory memory and you can record conversations verbatim … and Writer You just loves it.

All the helper mice nod in agreement. More question marks from me.

Helper mouse #3: I mean, look at her.

Everyone looks up. And then they laugh and laugh and laugh.

I look up too.

And there, a few feet above me, is Writer Me.

She’s tiny.

Like, Tinkerbell tiny.

Her hair is up in a messy bun held together by a pencil. And she’s typing furiously away at an old-fashioned typewriter and laughing her head off.

And that’s when the realizations started …

Some of them were really obvious. Some were really subtle.

Some were painful and some were sweet.

But they were coming fast and furious.**

**Which, admittedly, is my own fault because I’d been messing around with Shiva Nata the day before and that’s just kind of what happens.

Realization #1: I know that typewriter.

I know that typewriter.

That’s the typewriter that my friend who is dead gave me for my twenty-fifth birthday to remind me that I am a writer.

I have no idea where it is or what happened to it.

Realization #2: Tiny Writer Me is familiar too.

Of course.

She looks different than I’d imagined her, with her retro cat eye glasses and slim skirt.

But yeah, she’s me. And she’s the writer self that I pretend doesn’t exist.

Not that I haven’t thought about her. About what might have happened if I hadn’t moved to Israel at seventeen.

I spent years imagining this parallel life. While I was getting in screaming fights with drunks at various dive bars where I worked in south Tel Aviv. While I was teaching yoga in Berlin.

I’d imagine the me who stayed. Who committed to her writing. Who ended up in New York or Chicago. Who wrote pieces for the New Yorker and did odd little indie projects and collaborations.

And then I gave her up.

Realization #3: I’m completely wrong about Realization #2.

Uh uh.

I realize that this imaginary writer person I am always half-mourning does not exist … and that Writer Me is actually always wherever I am.

It’s like, I had always thought that Writer Me was my unfulfilled self.

The me-that-would-have-been. The grand, tragic story.

But it turns out that Writer Me is with me all the time — about two feet above my head, as it turns out — inventing hilarious things to write about.

And slapping her knee and guffawing, if you can imagine someone doing that in this totally dainty way.

Realization #4: My allies and helper mice deeply appreciate something about me that I am not even aware of.

I realize that they’re laughing with joy and merriment.

And now I know why they’re laughing.

It’s because to them it’s obvious that I want things to be funny.

In fact, they think that I intentionally (or subconsciously?) gravitate towards ridiculous situations because Writer Me enjoys them.

They’re amused and entertained by my marvelous, tumultuous, goofy-ass life. And they are here, in part, to help me enjoy it more. To appreciate it more.

Of course, if I ask them for more calm and grounding and quiet, they can do that too. But if I’m not asking? They’re pretty much just going to sit back and enjoy the show.

Because it’s basically the best situation comedy in the world.

Realization #5: Writer Me pushes me into bizarre situations so that I will be forced to write about them.

She knows that I avoid her. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to put up with me not writing.

In fact, I suddenly understand with perfect clarity that if I spend more time with Writer Me, she won’t have to invent such crazy scenarios to make me write about them.

It’s as though she’s almost forcing me to write.

And then she said that. To me!

“You know what your problem is? You don’t want to own me. You won’t even admit that I’m this huge part of you. You don’t even call yourself a writer.

You call it “blogging” and pretend it’s just this thing you do for your business. You hide from the world.

Well, guess what. I make sure your life is so interesting that you can’t not tell people about it. In words. That you write. That people read. So there.”

And then she stuck her tongue out at me.

And went back to typing furiously and snickering.

Oh.

Realization #6: I don’t have to make everything so complicated all the time.

Because yeah …

Maybe things can be funny and sweet without always having to be so hard and so bitter.

Maybe I can let things happen with more ease.

Maybe Writer Me and I can work together on some projects.

Maybe she can help me keep writing and keep seeing the funny … but without it all having to be so ridiculously chaotic all the time.

And maybe there are more realizations that are going to clear stuff up around this and I don’t have to figure it all out right this second.

So I’ve been practicing asking for what I want to receive in the comments — if you feel like leaving one, you totally don’t have to, of course!

Here’s what I want:

• Reactions. Reassurance. Things from your own life that this reminds you of. Realizations of your own if anything is coming up.
• If you have a Writer You or a Dancer You or a Scientist You or whatever who shows up on occasion, I would love to know what they look like! Or sound like …

Here’s what I would rather not have:

• Judgment/observations about how crazy I am. Or about how obvious and predictable this all is. Or, you know, casual backseat psychoanalysis.
• Shoulds.

My commitment.
I am committed to giving time and thought to absorbing everything that people say, and I will interact with their ideas and with my own stuff as compassionately and honestly as is possible for me.

Thanks for doing this with me! I am totally hesitating over the publish button on this one, but what the hell.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Blogging Therapy: Worry worry worry
• Scissors.
• Item! I have stuff to say and I’m saying it!

Actually, I’m under the strict compulsion to write ten pages about anything on my mind. So this is me. Practicing brevity.

Alright.

I know we ended on a cliffhanger yesterday (and I promise we’ll get back to that exciting story tomorrow) but it’s Wednesday.

Also, my brain is tired and I can’t write straight.

And am also completely distracted by all the smart, funny, weird, interesting things on Twitter, which is partly why these Item! posts exist, because otherwise all this stuff just vanishes.

Item! Post No. 24 in a series that still has no point but has become (for me, at least) weirdly addictive.

Item! Care for your introvert!

Loved this Atlantic article by Jonathan Rauch.

Not because I necessarily agree with everything (or even a lot of) what he has to say but because it’s helpful for me to remember that other highly sensitive people have it hard too.

We’re sensitive mice.

And sometimes it’s nice to have permission to stay that way.

“Second, when you see an introvert lost in thought, don’t say “What’s the matter?” or “Are you all right?”

Third, don’t say anything else, either.”

Item! Best. News. Ever.

Okay, so I don’t have a television, but no, that does not stop me from being madly obsessed with the short-lived series Arrested Development.

I think I’ve seen every single episode at least twice. And the ones with Liza Minnelli in them? Way too many times and still not enough.

So it was pretty cool when I saw the trailer for the new Arrested Development Documentary.

Be happy for me!

Item! Sometimes people want to give us money and we don’t let them!

Nice post from Sparky Firepants about wanting to give people money and not getting to.

It’s called … Hello? Is anyone there? Can I give someone my money here?

And yeah.

This situation is totally a thing. I notice at least a few times a week that I’m really wanting to give someone my money and they’re (accidentally, I guess) making it extra hard on me.

And goodness knows I probably am guilty of this too. Useful.

He’s @sparkyfirepants on Twitter.

Item! Two lovely posts about a Sad Little Ghost.

The first post is a conversation post which references an earlier post which references me.

She’s doing the whole “talking to her stucknesses” thing.

Very good stuff.

“My Sad Little Ghost isn’t haunting me because he wants me to feel bad about myself. It’s a Sad Little Ghost because he’s just trying to get me to the things that he knows (and for that matter, I know) would make me happy in the long run. He’s sad because I don’t listen to him.”

Go read the rest.

She’s @supercareo on Twitter.

Item! This is nothing short of miraculous but maybe you could end up coming to Taos?

The amazing Jennifer Louden — who is not only smart and inspiring, but is also pretty much the only self-help-ey author that I actually listen to) is doing her week-long women’s writing retreat in Taos, New Mexico.

I crush so hard on everything she does that it’s just embarrassing.

And, incredibly, I’ve been invited to be a kind of scholar-in-residence there, teaching destuckification and epiphany-generating wackiness and gentle yoga and maybe even some emergency calming techniques.

And of course it sold out early because this is basically the best thing in the entire world.

But now, even more incredibly, two people can’t make it and there is an opening and ohmygod you should take it if you can.

Seriously. The opportunity to learn from someone like Jen in person is heaven. Add to that the prospect of getting destuckified with your writing and finding your voice again and devoting time, energy and love to healing the stuck bits …

I can’t even describe what an outrageously life-changing opportunity this is so I will stop stuttering and just give you the links already.

So first you want to read the long but useful page that describes the course and then you’ll probably miss the tiny, tiny, tiny almost-invisible link to where you actually sign up for it so yeah, this is where you do that.

Item! I I’m not the only one who makes fun of Stu!

About ten different people sent me the link to this picture.

Because I rant about Stu (my McCarthy-ist voice-to-text software) and his curious and malicious misspellings every single Friday.

Awesome.

Item! Comments!

So it was really cool the other day when I was working on my practice of how I ask for stuff and then I made a very specific request for the kinds of comments I wanted to receive.

And that totally felt awkward and weird.

But the cool part was that people really got it and all the comments were so lovely … and I realized that I’m actually making life easier on everyone when I’m specific about what I want and what I don’t want.

So I’m going to try it again!

Here’s what I want:

• Things you’re thinking about.
• Things you think I should read.

My commitment.
I am committed to giving time and thought to absorbing everything that people say, and I will interact with their ideas and with my own stuff as compassionately and honestly as is possible for me.

That is all.

Happy reading.

And happy Blustery Windsday. See you tomorrow.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Item! I have opinions and recommendations!
• I am a writer. And other confessions.
• Friday Check-in #9: the “almost naptime” edition

– and before you completely freak out because you are my mother, let me reassure you that it was not a big deal at all and it was just a thing being removed by the dermatologist and it was completely benign and I’m okay mom, I promise —

and I can hear the doctor (it’s a he*) talking to the nurse (a she) in the next room.

*Not because it matters to the story. Just so you’ll know who I’m talking about when I use a gendered pronoun later.

It’s not related to anything in particular, but I absolutely have to share this conversation with you because it was so completely insane.

Not even exaggerating. More insane than the conversation I had with that cab company in Texas.

And then I have to tell you about the other thing that happened. Because that was pretty great too.

The conversation in the next room.

The doctor: Don’t we have any scissors around here?
The nurse: I don’t know.
The doctor: It really seems like we should have scissors.
The nurse: I don’t know. I don’t see any.
The doctor: Didn’t we order some scissors?
The nurse: Oh, that’s right. We did. We haven’t picked them up yet.
The doctor: Well, we’re going to need scissors, you know.
The nurse: We should have some somewhere. They’ve got to be around here.
The doctor: Yes, scissors. I need scissors.
The nurse: I think they’re around here somewhere. Wait –

Sound of crashing and stuff falling over.

Me (in my head): Oy Vavoy.
The doctor: Oh dear.
The nurse: Well, I just walked right into you, didn’t I? Dear me. Well, at least the floor is clean.
The doctor: Do we at least have suture scissors?
The nurse: What?
The doctor: I need suture scissors.
The nurse: Indeed you do! You have a patient waiting in surgery in room 3.
Me: Uh oh. That’s me. Room 3. Crap crap crap. They don’t have scissors. What am I doing here?

The one-sided conversation in my head.

This is me, talking to myself. But when I say talking to myself, I mean talking AT myself.

Okay, sweetie. We’re good. We’re good.

What do we know about this situation? We know that you’re feeling nervous and needing some reassurance. And that’s legitimate. It’s understandable.

We know this doctor is very competent. You wrote a personal ad for him, remember? He did a lovely job putting the stitches in. You like him.

Sure, the nurse is a bit of a flakerooney, but at least she’s really nice. And anyway, you didn’t say anything about that in your personal ad, so yeah, you know …

Kind of funny, actually, because weren’t you just telling your Kitchen Table-ers about how important it is to be specific?

Okay, sorry. That was kind of obnoxious. I don’t mean to be lecturing you. I guess I’m just nervous.

Maybe we can just work on making this whole experience more comfortable. What can we do here? What would help?

Yoga breathing. Check. Mudra. Check. Grounding. Check. Centering. Check. What else?

The two-sided conversation in my head.

This is me, talking to myself. But when I say talking to myself, I mean talking WITH myself. Like group therapy, except that everyone is me.

Kind Sensible Loving Me: Okay, what are we feeling? What are we noticing?

Scared Tiny Me: Fear.

Curious Me: Is it ours? Does it belong to us?

Observer Me: Some of it is. A little. The rest is just residue. It’s in the room. It’s other people’s fear that they’ve left here.

Healer Me: Is this something that has to be here? Can I get permission to clear it out? Or to let it be cleared out?

Unsure Me: Maybe. Hmmmm.

Cruise Director Me: Alright. Anything that isn’t ours? Anything that doesn’t need to be here? You can go back to the earth and dissolve. You don’t need to be here anymore.

Twenty-five Year Old Me: Man, you are such an embarrassing hippie freak. How can you stand to be around yourself?

Right-Now Me: Sweetpea, I know this is hard for you when I’m all kooky and weird. I’m just going to remind you that we don’t have to believe in this stuff for it to help.

Reasoning Me: You know what it’s like when the energy of a room changes. Is there a reason why we can’t let that happen now?

Scared Tiny Me: Because I’m scared.

Kind Sensible Loving Me: Oh, my love. Oh, that’s hard. I am not going to try to talk you out of feeling what you’re feeling. Come sit here and be loved.

Long story short.

I finish talking to myself.

I clear the fear and the discomfort out of the space.

Then I remember how Hiro suggests calling on your allies in situations like these, so I asked for some helper mice to come to the rescue. Or at least to keep me company. To help me feel safe and supported.

There was some eye-rolling from my inner sarcastic zebra (don’t ask), but we got there.

My helpers and allies showed up. And we waited. Together.

Nu? So what happened?

The nurse comes in to take out the stitches.

Me (in my head): Nooooooooo. She’s doing it? Oh, disaster.

And then she starts to take out the stitches.

The nurse: Oh dear! Oops-a-daisy.
Me (in my head): Breeeeaaaaathe.
The nurse: It’s like I just can’t seem to focus my eyes. I should really have them checked.
Me (in my head): ?!??!
The nurse: Let’s put you at a different angle. Maybe it will be less blurry that way.
Me (in my head): Oh. My. God.
The nurse: Nope! It’s just me. Okey-dokey. Let’s see here. Is that two stitches or three at the end there? It’s certainly hard to tell!
Me (in my head): This is going to be really funny later, sweetie. I promise. In the meantime, just keep using your techniques and we’ll get you through this.
The nurse: Gee, I hope I’m getting them all. I might have left in one or two. We’ll ask the doctor about it.
Me (in my head): Oy.

But that’s not even the funny part. Or the strange part.

I look around at my circle of allies and helpers.

And they’re laughing so hard they’re on the floor. They’re just cracking up completely.

Falling apart.

And wouldn’t you know. That’s when all the really bizarre stuff started happening.

To Be Continued …

p.s. The stitches came out fine. No pain. It looks great. No worries.

I’ll call, I promise.

[Okay, if you missed the follow-up post, it's right here: Scissors, Part 2. Enjoy!]

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Speaking to the fog.
• Conversations with blocks: Part 3
• Roses everywhere.

First I wrote a personal ad for my ideal home… which is how I came to live at Hoppy House. Hoppy House! I love Hoppy House. Plus it has blueberry bushes.

Then Kelly wrote a personal ad for a copywriting assistant… and I ran it for her here and that ended up completely transforming her business.

But then lately I’ve been writing really, really little ones and not putting them up on the blog. Not even telling anyone about them. And here’s the weird part. It’s still working.

I don’t get it.

But I also don’t really care because hey, look at that, it’s working.

And so I’m writing personal ads.

That’s how I found a really great dentist who is smart and sensitive and caring and considerate (all the qualities I asked for).

And a dermatologist who is sensible and down to earth.

And a great space for teaching workshops.

And it’s not just me.

My clients and students and Kitchen Table participants are knocking me over with the way they are finding what they need while using this extremely unlikely and “soft” technique.

Houses. Jobs. Relationships.

But also smaller things… like a home for a puppy. Or a good book to read on the plane.

So I’ve decided to start writing itty-bitty personal ads for things I need and want that aren’t big, crazy things to ask for.

Just to see if the process of finding them can be made that much easier.

A tiny personal ad for hangers.

I am a person without a lot of stuff. I don’t have a car. I don’t have a desk. I have two pairs of shoes.

So simple living suits me. And at the same time, I somehow don’t have enough hangers in my closet.

Here’s what I want:

Sturdy clothes hangers, made of wood or metal. Some of them should have clips for hanging skirts on them.

Here’s how I want to get them:

I am more than happy to pay for them. I just don’t want to have to go look for them.

And I prefer used to new, to not have to be part of that endless cycle of more crap being created.

Ways they could come to me:

• A friend or neighbor could want to give them away.
• Someone might see an ad on Craig’s List or Freecycle and tell me about it.
• I could happen upon them somehow. (This makes me think of Mr. Micawber and his waiting for something “to turn up”!)
• Any other possibility. I’m willing to be surprised.

My commitment.

I will treat these hangers well. I will appreciate them. They will be loved.

A tiny personal ad for a place to donate old clothing.

Again, I don’t have a lot. But some of it is stuff that no longer needs to be with me.

I’ve gone through my closet and asked “Is this something that the Pirate Queen or one of her consorts would be happy wearing?”

And now I have a bag of stuff that isn’t. And it would like a good home.

Here’s what I want:

I want to know where to take this bag of clothing, without having to do a bunch of time-consuming research, or calling everyone I know to ask.

Here’s how I want to receive the thing I want:

• Someone reading this could leave a comment here with a useful suggestion.
• The next time I’m hanging out with a friend, I just remember to ask and they have the exact right answer.
• I type my question into a search engine and the first thing that comes up is perfect.
• The right answer just comes to me.
• Any other possibility. I’m willing to be surprised.

My commitment.

I will take this bag of clothing to the right place once I find it. I will give these things joyfully and appreciate the new space in my life.

And … I’m out of personal ads for now.

But I’m sure I’ll think of other things I want to ask for.

I really like the clarity that asking gives me. I like the ritual of it.

And I like the idea that a personal ad doesn’t always have to be for some big life-changing thing.

That it can be tiny and hopeful and personal.

That’s what I’m going for.

And since I’m already asking …

I am going to also try asking today for what I would like to receive in the comments, and that way, if you feel like leaving one, you’ll be part of this experiment too. :)

Here’s what I want:

• Stories of things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for.
• Helpful thoughts and ideas you have about the two things that I have asked for here.
• Ways that you’re thinking about this concept and how it could be applied to interesting things … or questions you have about it and how to apply it.

What I would rather not have:

• Theories about why it works.
• To be judged or psychoanalyzed.

My commitment.

I am committed to giving time and thought to everything that people say, and I will interact with their ideas compassionately and honestly.

What I’m noticing.

How weird/hard it is to just say what I want.

Really interesting.

That’s it!

p.s. Thanks for doing this with me. I really appreciate it.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Friday Check-in #46: the Dreaded Diphth*ng edition
• Birthdays, existential crises, and talking about the recession.
• Letters, wackiness, surprising little seeds.

And you get to join in if you feel like it.

Oh boy.

Friday.

This has been quite a week.

And really, I should just tell you about it already.

And you should tell me about yours, because misery loves company. I mean, because I like you.

Not miserable. Just tired. Because of the Expotition.

The hard stuff

Stuff I don’t like that is sometimes also uncomfortable.

More dentist. Dermatologist. Opthamologist. Things that end in -ist.

Not happy about it.

Disappearing post.

The blog post that I meant to write the other day totally ran away.

I mean, I did write it and then it just didn’t exist anymore.

It was the most bizarre thing in the entire world and I also couldn’t believe I’d actually lost it because I am the most save-ey backing-up-ey person in the world.

So then I spend forever looking for it anyway even though it was clearly gone. And even more time mourning the lost genius bits.

And feeling bad about the time it took to write and the time it took to look for it … and that only took more time.

And, even though this whole thing is completely ridiculous, it really was an amazing, brilliant post that is no more. Argh.

Just kind of generally stressed out.

A bunch of little things that add up.

No one horrible stressful thing. Just lots of tiny little worries and challenges and things to trip over.

Some shoes being tossed. Stuff like that.

But hey, some good stuff happened too.

The good stuff

Sleeping in.

Okay, so normally I wake up between five and six, because that’s when my body likes to get up.

Which is great. That’s when I get my writing done. Well, first my wacky meditations and then my writing.

But every once in a while I actively try to sleep in (because it’s clear I need more rest) and I can’t. Annoying.

This week though I had two huge victories in that area.

One day I slept in until 7 a.m. (which hardly ever happens) and then the next day I slept in until 9am (which never happens). It was amazing.

And I give full credit to the Great Expotition for wearing me out entirely.

The Great Expotition.

You kind of have to know a bit about Portland to understand how completely insane this walk my brother and I went on was. But you really don’t.

Let’s just say that it was well beyond anything that should fit into anyone’s definition (however casual) of “going for a walk”.

We started in North Portland, because, you know, that seemed as good a place to start as any.

And then six hours and all five city quadrants later* … we collapsed and had a very well-earned dinner.

*Yes. You’re right. Quadrant should mean four. Please don’t ask me why Portland has five. I mean, I know why there are five, but I don’t know why we call them quadrants.

The basic description of the Great Expotition is this:

Ez and I made our way from North Portland to Northeast Portland. Crossed the river into Northwest. Stopped at Powell’s.

Walked from Northwest to Southwest. Got so far south that we were all the way to the Ross Island bridge (the second to last southern bridge) — and then doubled back and crossed the Hawthorne bridge into Southeast.

Oh, and then walked another 40 minutes or so to Sellwood.

In short, it was the longest, silliest urban walk I have ever been on. Expotition!**

**Hat tip to Winnie-the-Pooh.

Weird things happened that resulted in a surprise workshop!

In case you missed the announcement yesterday, I’m teaching a surprise (SURPRISE!) workshop in San Francisco.

This was a fairly exciting part of my week because it was a surprise even for me, and because it’s going to be absolutely fantastic. And because eight people signed up yesterday.

And I know some of them and they’re awesome.

[EDIT: Whoop! Already sold out. Sorry.]

Also, even if you’re nowhere near San Francisco, you should really go to the hastily-scrawled page and read my amusing rant about how the coupon code only works if you press the APPLY COUPON button.

Because oh, I’m hilarious.

Well, I amuse myself at least … and that’s something else that belongs in the “good” category. Good thing there isn’t a “wry” category, because it would definitely have to go there instead.

And … STUISMS of the week.

Stu is my paranoid McCarthy-ist voice-to-text software who delights in torturing me misunderstanding me. I can’t stand him.

My favorites this week were all of his pathetic attempts to “translate” the phrase compassionate communication, which Stu likes to call compassionate vindication.

(He also likes compassionate truncation.)

Anyway, the gems from this week, including Stu’s acetyl Freudian slips.

• now help for this is firming instead of “how helpful this is for me”
• print this please instead of “parenthesis”
• wheels so Foran instead of “feels so foreign”
• meritless things (also American listings) instead of “miraculous things”
• Cumber stations with monster’s instead of “Conversations with monsters”
• why Philly instead of “my belief”
• his votes to this thing instead of “let’s do this thing”
• you don’t want a standard hurry instead of “you don’t want to stand in her way”.
• So let’s tame this into A/UX instead of “So let’s take this in chunks”
• I was is supposed to pronounce this for our Virgo instead of “I was supposed to announce this forever ago”
• people will hang at my meme beach house instead of “people will hate me and be jealous”

That’s it for me …

And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.

Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?

And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Friday Check-in #48: Spontaneous Fruit Party edition
• This is bizarre. It is also about San Francisco.
• Friday Check-in #36: “tractor trailer” edition

The other day I got to interview the super-smart Pam Slim because she generously agreed to talk to my At the Kitchen Table group about what it means to be an intentional entrepreneur.

And about … oh, goodness all sorts of other stuff, because when Pam and I get together we go off on crazy, wonderful, loopy tangents.

It was fabulous.

You maybe remember (speaking of tangents) that we met while taking a class a few years ago (which is totally why you should take classes). Or that we roomed together at the madcap four-day slumber party that was SXSW.

I still adore her and am just generally the hugest gushing fan of everything she does. Her posts. Her coaching. Her terrific book. Her guest-blogging for the New York Freaking Times.

All of it.

She’s quick and insightful and kind and compassionate and a total goofball. Love. Pam.

But what I completely didn’t expect was that I was also going to get surprising and eye-opening results from interviewing her for my Kitchen-ers.

Bring on the weird stuff!

So I talked her into doing a little guided meditation thing with my group, because we’re all about the wacky.

And also because when she described it, we thought it sounded pretty cool.

The general idea was that you imagine yourself out on a stage looking out at your Right People. Kind of like internal market research.

And I’m already all, ack! A stage! I can’t be on a stage! Which is kind of funny, because I’ve been teaching since I was fourteen and yeah, I often teach on a stage. I even gave a lecture in German for goodness sakes from a stage at the Berlin Yoga Festival.

But my head forgets these things.

Luckily it was a very non-scary stage. Outdoors. This very smooth, organic space emerging. Not a look-at-me kind of space. More of a this is where we are gathering kind of space.

How weird is this.

You should really just hire Pam to walk you through this because I’m probably explaining it all wrong, but the general idea is that you notice who shows up to learn from you.

And then you discover what you have to say to them. And what they desperately need from you.

And I’m all, yeah yeah, I know what I teach and I know what my people need. It’s the safety thing and it’s the love thing and it’s the patterns thing. Nothing new for me here.

But that’s not at all what happened.

Here’s what happened.

I can see the stage that Pam is describing. I can feel it.

I get up onto the stage and I don’t teach anything.

I don’t say anything.

Instead, I start doing the Dance of Shiva. I start demonstrating the science of patterns.

How patterns work. How things are put together. How things come apart. How you take one thing and turn it into something else.

How some patterns are waiting to be transformed into something better … and how others are beautiful, organic parts of nature that just want to be acknowledged and appreciated.

I’m demonstrating what it is like to be right there with the hard stuff. I’m demonstrating what it is like to let things be hard because sometimes you need to dance around with the hard for a while.

And I’m demonstrating what it is like to let things be easy because sometimes they don’t need to be hard.

I’m demonstrating joy. I’m demonstrating power. I’m demonstrating change. Inspiration. Courage. Connection. Safety. Shelter. Daring. Flying.

It’s amazing. And everyone gets it. They get what I’m trying to teach through not teaching.

And then I find out what they need from me.

It’s not really any of the stuff I think they need from me.

Pam asks:

“What are your people hungry for?”

I get two words. Both of them in Hebrew.

Seder.

This is order.

But it’s also more than that. It’s an ordering which contains elements of structure and pattern and right relationship.

Shalva

This is … hmmm, kind of a combination of peace and calm and contentment. It’s something deeply enveloping and comforting. There is a lot of grace to it.

Seder and Shalva. The relief that comes from finding the order in the chaos. And the chaos in the order. Because there is freedom in both of them.

Wow. Crazy.

Not that this necessarily needs to mean anything to the people who have gathered around my teaching. Just that I know more about the qualities my people want to receive.

I have nothing more to say about that other than that it was ridiculously awesome.

And that the very next day a thing happened! A thing!

Well, an unusual opportunity came up and I grabbed it. And now I get to announce it. This is so crazy. And so great. Whee!

ANNOUNCEMENT! Excitement! Exclamation points! San Francisco!

So it turns out (as of right now) that my duck and I are teaching a three hour workshop in San Francisco.

Three hours of “work through your stucknesses with Dance of Shiva and Havi-inspired wackiness” magic. And of course, some hot buttered epiphanies because yay, epiphanies.

It’s really, really, really soon. Really soon.

Sunday, July 12 from 2:30 - 5:30 p.m.

The important things to know:

• There is only room for ten people. We might even have to close it at eight.
• My workshops sell out very quickly.
• It’s in the Castro. Details, directions and possible ride-share info when you sign up.
• It’s going to be outrageously great. Admittedly, it’s not an entire weekend in North Carolina, but still, we can do a hell of a lot of destuckifying in three hours.

Oh, and one more thing:

Please do NOT mention this directly to my gentleman friend if you know him because I found a way to fly him out there on a surprise vacation at the same time and he totally doesn’t know we’re going and I might even get away with this because he’s really busy this week and hasn’t been on my blog. Whew.

The rest of the details are here.

Take a look because Selma and I would love to be able to hang out with you in person and do wackiness and have breakthroughs.

And yeah, there’s also a coupon thing-ey (reduced rate) for my blog readers because I adore you guys madly and you make my work worth doing.

[EDIT: Sorry, sorry, sorry -- sold out already. I think in just under 30 hours. Next time will try to do something bigger or at least give more advanced notice?]

I need to go jump up and down now.

So I will leave you with this.

I’m super excited. About Pam. About my new vision. About this weird, wonderful thing that just unfolded. About getting to maybe see some of you in person and do this work together.

–> Here’s the link: http://fluentself.com/san-francisco

Wheeeee!

That is all.

Talk tomorrow.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• You, me, and my duck, baby.
• Friday Check-in #47: the Expotition edition
• Pirate beauty and other good things.

Because pretty much the only time I’m absolutely positive that what I’ve written is full of sparkly bits of genius is when I don’t have a shot in hell of getting it back.

All this to say that — despite my obsessive file-saving and mad backing-up tendencies — my beautiful blog post has disappeared forever.

So we’re talking about something else today. Apparently. Hi.

What would a pirate queen do?

Remember when I said I needed to take some of my stucknesses to Carolyn?

That seemed like a smart thing to do. Because Carolyn is awesome and also because she helped me sort out my pirate invisibility issue a few weeks ago.

I explained the problem.

Basically, my stucknesses are of the opinion that I am not allowed to be beautiful or do anything that might draw attention to myself because people will hate me and be jealous.

And Carolyn, who is very wise, asked, “What about the pirate queen? Is she not allowed to be beautiful or draw attention to herself?”

Which made me laugh.

Remembering that you’re a pirate queen is hard work.

I haven’t been a pirate queen for all that long. It’s a pretty recent development.

So yeah, sometimes I forget.

Here’s what our conversation sounded like:

Carolyn: So … the Pirate Queen is allowed to be beautiful, right?
Me: Pffft. Hell, yeah. She’s totally hot. It’s like, practically a requirement.
Carolyn: That’s what I thought. So … what are the qualities of pirate beauty?
Me: Strong. Powerful. Glowy. Vivacious. Determined. Unique. Surprising.

Carolyn: And what does the Pirate Queen think about other people being jealous or hating her because of these qualities?
Me: Why would she care about that?
Carolyn: raises eyebrow

Me: She doesn’t even notice that sort of thing. It has nothing to do with her. It’s their stuff. It’s their responsibility. They can have it.
Carolyn: They can have it.
Me: Yeah.
Carolyn: And what are the good things that come from having pirate beauty?
Me: I don’t know.

So I did a little wacky meditation on it.

Carolyn suggested that I sit with the phrase “My pirate beauty attracts all the right things”.

Right.

I didn’t feel comfortable with the wording, but I could imagine eventually wanting to feel comfortable with it. And so I went with it.

And here’s what happened.

I’m standing on the shore, squinting at the ship in the sun. The pirate queen is standing at the bow looking gorgeous and fierce and kind all at once.

She’s cupping her hands to her mouth so she can shout at me and she’s shouting that I should hurry up and join her.

But I can’t.

I want to retreat into the trees behind me. But I also don’t want her to leave me.

So I climb up onto a rock and determine to study the Pirate Queen. To learn what it is that makes her so confident about her pirate ways. And to find out, as Carolyn suggested, what good things come from pirate beauty.

And the strangest thing happened.

Watching the pirate queen, I realized that I was expecting that she’d attract a lot of pain and crap that she would then powerfully deflect.

That people would hate her and harass her, but that she’d be tough enough to not care.

But that’s not what happened.

Instead, it was as if dangerous things didn’t even come near her. Because they couldn’t.

What happened was that the people who were drawn to her were intrigued by her way of being. They became fiercely loyal to her vision. They became protectors and defenders of all that was related to her.

And she just kept on doing her confident, beautiful, creative thing in the middle of that love and protection.

Even better than that, other people came to watch her do it. And you could see how it inspired them to go off and do their own thing. How her quiet power gave them permission to have power too.

It was seriously cool.

And then I was on the ship.

The pirate queen and I were standing arm and arm, watching.

Watching the gap between us and the shore widen and widen until there was nothing to see but a great expanse of blue.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Apparently I don’t believe in free time.
• This is bizarre. It is also about San Francisco.
• Roses everywhere.

Actually, I’m under the strict compulsion to write ten pages about anything on my mind. So this is me. Practicing brevity.

There’s stuff to read.

There are Twitter links.

There are recommendations.

It’s Wednesday practically almost Wednesday, people. Selma and I have no sense of time. But we have a lot to say. Mostly me, though. Because Selma is a duck.

Item! Post No. 23 in a series that is too sexy for its shirt. Or would be if it had one.

Item! Do you know Kirstin? Because you should.

She’ll probably kill me for mentioning this but this is fantastic.

I don’t even really like video stuff and I watch everything she does.

She does this thing called You Digest and this is what it is:

In a world of infinite media options, you are what you browse, hear, game, read, and watch. But even information omnivores can get overloaded if they let all that raw media go unprocessed.

That’s where youdigest comes in — to cure your case of digital-age dyspepsia.

It’s a digest both in the traditional sense (I summarize the day’s top stories and their sources) and in my interpretive sense (I introduce an idea that I hope creates a whole out of all of those disparate items).

I really liked this one about standardizing standards. But this primarily practical one is pretty great too.

Anyway, Kirstin is one of my favorites. And she should be one of yours too.

And she’s @kirstinbutler on Twitter.

Item! This post is the happy!

Gina Loree Marks is sweet and quirky and kind and just generally my kind of person.

I mostly know her from Twitter but recently she wrote this post about Hot Buttered Epiphanies (the kind that come with extra awesomesauce).

So yeah, she wrote about my baby Shiva Nata and she wrote about it beautifully and I am super happy that she is joining the ranks of the Shivanauts because yay!

Also, got to love her attitude.

“I can’t wait to make an arm-and-leg-flailing ass out of myself.”

Very very cool.

She’s @gloreebe88 on Twitter.

Item! Exactly! No, exactly!

This perfect little article from the Onion is called Area Man Not Exactly Sure Why Doctor Needed Him Undressed For That.

And it’s such a tiny, succinct, graceful summing up of why I can’t stand going to the doctor.

“He asked me about my smoking and my sleep patterns and stuff, then he looked in my ears and throat, and checked my heartbeat with his stethoscope, and that was it,” the baffled, nude Lyons said.

Right? Exactly.

Item! I am in love with this site!

It’s called the River Junction Trade Company and it’s basically what a Victorian website would look like if the Victorians had had websites.

And this is so where I am getting all my clothes now. Oh. My. God. The best.

Item! I’m on the blogroll over at Jenny the Bloggess!

Okay, so are six thousand other people there too but hooray and I didn’t even beg to be there.

Whoah.

Crazy.

You already read Jenny, right?

If not, start with THIS:

“If anything, I’M being exploited”

The most genius answer ever to many a finger-wagging lecture about how you shouldn’t blog about … whatever it is.

Item! Introducing the Decoder Ring Theater!

Actually, I’m kind of hoping you already know about them.

Because yay!

But if you aren’t familiar yet with the Decoder Ring Theatre, here’s what it is:

A crew of Canadians producing adventure serials in a kind of ‘30s/’40s Golden Age of radio style… and you can listen to them as podcasts and they are all kinds of excellent.

There’s the noir private eye (Black Jack Justice), the rooftop dwelling caped crusader (Red Panda), the heroic space jockey (Deck Gibson), and so on.

And nothing makes me happier than hearing the voice of … Trixie Dixon, girl detective.

It’s pretty impossible not to become a fan, even if you aren’t an old-timey radio buff. My gentleman friend got me on board and yeah, they’re great.

As he puts it, they evoke the good ol’ days with great respect … and a big fat wink.

Item! Sale price of “Stuff Havi Thinks You Should Know” ends Thursday!

Today (and maybe tomorrow?) is the last chance to get the homestudy version of the Stuff Havi Thinks You Should Know About Testimonials & Referrals course at the old price.

Because the price goes up Thursday. I’d be more specific but Peggy (one of my assistants) will be doing it and I haven’t the slightest idea when she’s doing it.

There are recordings. There are examples. There are things I didn’t promise in the class but gave anyway like ebooklets. And six “sample asks” that you can make your own. There’s even a transcript on its way.

Take a look if you need ways to get people to talk up your cool thing without having to actually ask them to or to feel all awkward and weird about it.

Also: there’s a significant discount for regular blog readers. You just need to know who Selma is. And I know you know who Selma is.

That is all.

Happy reading.

And happy (almost, kind of, eventually) Blustery Windsday. See you tomorrow.

On actual Wednesday. When I’m (possibly) less confused.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Item! Have adventures with me!
• Item! I am the epitome of brevity!
• Item! It’s Wednesday!

It was inspired by some of my wacky conversations with monsters.

And it’s fascinating, because she borrowed my concept of using a negotiator to mediate the hard parts and took it somewhere completely different.

The only thing I like better than building on someone else’s concept is when someone does it with one of mine.

So now I’m going to take her idea — that you can invite a real person into your head to mediate awkward and horrible encounters — and play with it a bit myself.

The thing I’m dealing with right now:

It’s not really a monster. And it’s definitely not a troll. More of a scary fog.

It’s about the same stuff that’s going on with the rose.

The scary fog, which is sort of a green-black haze, thinks that I need to hide and to “not be beautiful” (its words) because otherwise people will hate me and be jealous of me.

So I was going to have one of my usual internal discussions with the haze-fog. And I stopped to ask whether I could do it myself or if I needed the Negotiator to step in.

But then I thought no, let’s try something else.

A whole mediation party.

I’ve never done one of these before (because, you know, I just made it up) so I have no idea how it works. But that’s never stopped me before so … let’s do this thing.

We’re in a large room with cream colored walls and a very high ceiling.

I’m in one corner and my green-black scary fog haze is in the other.

Not like boxers, exactly. It’s not a ring or anything. But we’re opposite each other and are kind of checking each other out, without actually approaching.

I know that in the next room the negotiators are waiting. I know that the negotiators are all people that I inherently trust. I know that the negotiators do things their own way and that I am to be patient and just watch.

Let the mediation begin.

The first negotiator.

The first negotiator is the typing teacher from 7th grade. I never had her for typing, but she was my greatest protector. My advocate.

She walks briskly up to the fog and this is what she says:

“Honey, I get that you’re trying to protect our sweet girl from a lot of potential pain. And I appreciate that. But you know what? When she is her whole self, that is her protection. Her best protection. And you’re keeping her from it. Think about that.”

She walks over to me and pats me on the shoulder. And then she finds a place to sit up against the wall in the middle of the room.

The second negotiator.

The second negotiator is the Dalai Lama.

He goes to the fog. He smiles at it calmly. He reaches out his hand towards it. And then he sits at its feet (or where its feet would be) and closes his eyes.

Once in awhile he looks at me and kind of twinkles. Like he’s just beaming at me. I feel instantly reassured. There is gentleness everywhere.

The third negotiator.

The third negotiator is my friend who is dead.

This makes me cry.

My friend who is dead goes to the fog. He speaks to the fog.

“You have no idea what you’re up against. Havi is the smartest and the strongest and the funniest. Nothing can stop her. You don’t want to mess with her and you don’t want to mess with her friends. I’ve stood up for her a million times and I’ll keep standing up for her no matter what happens.”

Then he comes and sits by me and holds my hand. And I cry and cry and cry.

The fourth negotiator.

The fourth negotiator is my ex-husband. He goes to the fog.

“Havi’s in a lot of pain right now. I know she’s not the easiest person to get along with and god knows it’s hell to live with her, but I think you need to give her a break.”

Then he kind of shrugs and leaves the room. He doesn’t look at me.

The fifth negotiator.

The fifth negotiator is my teacher. He goes to the fog. He bows to the fog. He clears his throat.

“Havi’s light is inspiration to the world. You block this light. This is not efficient use of your energy. We need her light for bigger purpose: to ignite light in minds and hearts of other teachers. I say these words with respect. It is time now to use your power correctly.”

I am so happy to see Andrey and hear his voice and his Ukrainian-inflected English that I want to run to him. But I stay seated.

He comes to me. He says:

“You give fog power over you. Is not necessary.”

Then he goes and sits in another corner and begins to meditate. Soon he’s floating about a foot off the ground. The Dalai Lama sees this and beams delightedly.

Marlene, the typing teacher, shakes her head. My friend who is dead squeezes my hand. And I imagine my ex-husband thinking, “Man, she hangs around with the weirdest people.”

I wait to see if there will be a sixth negotiator, but no one else comes.

I notice that the air is different.

It’s as if each new person has brought an additional quality to the room.

A brisk, sensible no-nonsense breeze. Sweet gentleness. Fierce loyalty. Compromise. Power.

I scoot closer to the fog. The fog comes closer to me.

We’re sitting opposite each other now.

Each of my negotiators is in one corner of the room, watching.

Me: “I’m ready to work on this if you are.
The fog: “Okay. We could go to Carolyn with it.”
Me: “I’d like that.”
The fog: “You’re not scared of me anymore.”
Me: “It took me a while to realize that you’re … not that scary. I mean, if everyone else can talk to you, I guess I can too.”
The fog: “You’re not that scary yourself, you know.”
Me: “What? Why would I be scary?”
The fog: “Because of your potential. All of my fears about bad stuff happening to you that I need to keep you from? It’s because you’re really amazing. I admire you. It’s just that I worry about you a lot.”
Me: “I can’t believe this. I thought you hated me.”
The fog: “Come sit with me.”

And so I did.

If this kinda seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• The Negotiator, the Monster and the Scribe.
• Scissors.
• A gigantic block. And some destuckifying.